Doubly Blessed
by Bjanik
Summary: Concerts can be magic, especially when you're in good company. Oneshot AngealxGenesis


**Disclaimer: **I do not own FFVII or anything in it.

**A/N: This is a gift. The setting is shortly prior to Angeal's 17th birthday, and I hereby declare Angeal Hewely's birthday as September 27. Until somebody comes and beats me over the head with canonical evidence to the contrary. **

Angeal Hewley woke, holding his body completely still, even to the point of keeping his breathing at the same, sleep-slowed pace. He let his ears and nose and skin investigate his environment for him. He was curled up tight in what had become a habitual sleep position for him, but he wasn't in his foxhole. He couldn't smell the damp earth, there were no rocks poking him, and the most telling of all, the deafening, maddening, onslaught of materia artillery fire was absent. Finally his sluggish brain remembered where he was – base camp. They had been relieved four days ago by the 21st Division and he was still trying to adapt to this new reality, now almost a hundred miles from the front. He stretched out on his cot, telling himself he should try at least to sleep like a normal person, even if it was only for a few days. Curled up in a defensive ball wasn't going to make him much of a bedmate, if, someday in a remote and unimaginable future, he actually found himself in an actual bed. With a mate.

He opened his eyes and looked over the tent's only other occupant. Genesis, his childhood friend, was already awake. And a child no longer. A year ago one might have argued differently. At sixteen, when they had joined the army, they were technically adults. Old enough to legally work, drink, fuck, and die for ShinRa. But they had still been children. Their childhood lives in sleepy Banora had not been able to prepare them for war. Angeal supposed nothing could have. And as nearly unbearable he had found the inhuman load of fear, noise, and horror, all of it seemed to take an even heavier toll on Genesis. Once the purest essence imaginable of light and life, now Genesis often lay like this, staring and unseeing. Maybe inside his mind Genesis was still trapped in the hell of the battlefield, or maybe it was a blankness left behind. Angeal was unsure.

Angeal sat up and threw his pillow at his friend's head. Genesis knocked the pillow aside with a swift motion of his arm, never breaking his sightless gazing.

"Hey," Angeal said, rolling from his bunk to squat on the floor next to Genesis' prone form. He folded bare arms on the blanket next to his friend's chest and plopped his chin down, their faces inches apart. "Let's get some breakfast." He reached up and stroked a cinnamon-brown lock from Genesis' forehead.

The young man stirred, just enough to look at his friend before turning back.

"Not hungry," Genesis said.

Angeal sighed. Genesis had been "not hungry" last night as well.

"I'll bring you something," Angeal whispered. He stood and pulled on boots and a black Army issue T-shirt, and then gave his trousers a shake so that they looked less slept in. Another of his new sleeping habits- he just couldn't feel secure enough anymore to fall into that vulnerable state called sleep without pants. Another mark in the "bad bedmate" column for him.

Angeal ducked through the tent flap into an already brightening day. His boots barely printed the hard packed dirt on the way to the mess hall, and he absently exchanged greetings with men and a few women whom he recognized on base. Most of them were permanent support people rather than guys from his own unit. That was because there weren't many left from his unit after the hard time of it they had of it outside of Okudzu. Such a small town, such a crappy, small town, and they had spent so many lives on it. He made a mental note to check on his men that were still in the infirmary. Later, maybe for the noon meal. Genesis would go with him for that; even though he hated the feeling of uselessness that came with visiting men with missing limbs and wounds that could only be half healed by materia. But at noon they could help feed lunch to the livelier but bandaged men, plus give them shit over what pussies they were. And then get asked right back who were the real pussies, playing nursemaid like that. Angeal smiled at the thought, not noticing the strange look Private Teskie gave him as he ladled a gooey egg mixture onto Angeal's tray, wondering why anyone would smile at gooey egg mixture.

"Seargent Hewley, come over here and have a seat," the rough voice of Colonel Brusard cut through the clattering din of the mess hall and Angeal wove his way over to the man's table. He started to salute but the Colonel waved him off, motioning for him to sit instead.

"Where's your counterpart, Sergeant Rhapsodos?"

"He's, uh..." Angeal stopped short of saying 'lying in our tent in a catatonic stupor', but as he had almost no ability to construct a lie he was rather stuck.

"Still asleep is he?" Colonel Brusard luckily finished for him with a laugh like the scraping of gravel. "Well, he's earned it. Both of you have, that was some brave and gutsy work at Okudzu."

"Thank-you, sir," Angeal said, managing not to cringe, scream, explode, or otherwise react to the sound of the town's name.

"I'm putting you both in for field promotion to First Lieutenant. It'll be finalized before you leave tomorrow."

Angeal sat stunned while the Colonel chewed his food. Part of him was excited, the usual, proud thrill that came with recognition and accomplishment. But part of him filled with a slow, seeping dread akin to fear. Not of the position; he had stepped up to leadership as soon as he had set foot on the field. Thanks to his enhancements he moved faster, saw farther, and survived better than the men around him. He also understood the dynamic of the battle quicker and more fully than almost any man he had met. That part was his birthright, he supposed, as the son of a soldier who had fought in his own war. But he and Genesis had been in the army for just shy of one year. Sure, they had been given some officer training and they were... different. But they were still green, and Angeal still sixteen. He knew their promotions said far more about the state of the war than their abilities. Things weren't going well, and everywhere officers were in short supply.

"Thank-you, sir," Angeal said, almost absently through his troubled thoughts.

"You can thank me by succeeding on your next assignment. You both ready?"

"Absolutely, sir," Angeal said, thinking it didn't much matter; they were as ready as they'd ever be.

"Good." The Colonel stood. "See you on the other side, Lieutenant."

The new Lieutenant stood to salute and also alleviate the disrespectful disparity in their positions. The rest of the table noticed and stood up sharply as well to the Colonel's disgusted and dismissive hand waving. Colonel Brusard never had any patience with etiquette.

Angeal bussed his tray and hunted around the serving table for some breads and fruits that were not too stale or abused. He thought about 'the other side'. Of course both he and the Colonel hoped that meant the other side of the Wutain straights, after they had secured the Mimian peninsula. But also they both knew it might mean the other side in the truest sense, the other side of life, in the Lifestream itself.

Suddenly Angeal lunged across the table and wrapped quick fingers around something. A muffin. His sensitive nose had caught the tang of blueberries, and even a day or two old it was pure gold. A blueberry muffin for Genesis.

With the muffin and two apples cradled possessively in the crook of one arm, Angeal trotted back to his tent, his mood a far cry better than it had been when he had left it earlier that morning. He had liked the sound of "Lieutenant" coming from the Colonel. Leuitenant Hewely. Lieutenant Rhapsodos. He gave one quick glance to a crowd that had gathered around the bulletin board, then ducked into his tent.

'Lieutenant Rhapsodos' was no longer in his bunk. Angeal smiled, relieved to think Genesis had roused himself and gone to the showers or something. He set the precious muffin and the apples atop Genesis' duffel, then rotated one of the apples to hide a bruised spot. It was a pretty thing, really, nothing like the large, beautiful, silver-white stupid apples of home, but also nothing like the dry rations they saw in the field. Apples were too fragile for war.

Angeal stepped back out into the daylight and wandered over to the bulletin board to see what the excitement was about. He didn't make it half way there before a blur with auburn hair tackled him and nearly sent him to the ground.

"Get off!" Angeal pushed and shrugged until he was free of arms and legs that were not his own. But his act wasn't convincing, fooling no one less than his affectionate attacker.

"Didja hear?" Genesis was grinning, his bright blue eyes lit afire. "Rapt Ruin is coming, they're coming here!"

"What? Gen, slow down!"

"To play for the troops, just for us, we're getting our own show, today!"

Angeal shook his head, disbelieving. Rapt Ruin was their all-time favorite band, hell, maybe everyone's favorite band. At least for people under twenty-five. They were hugely popular everywhere the continent. Genesis was particularly besotted with the lead singer, an enigmatic, magnetic, and somewhat moody artist who called himself 'Ghost'.

"Here," Genesis hissed again, with an emphatic pointing at the dirt under their feet. "_Ghost Vanir_ is coming here! The show starts right after dinner. Hell, he's probably here already."

Genesis craned his neck around as if he hoped to see the man walking through their camp, or maybe the band's tour bus parked at the motor pool. The heavier and calmer Soldier held fast to a fist full of his friend's shirt as Genesis bobbed to and fro like a crazed balloon at the end of a tether. Angeal looked back over to the bulletin board at the sound of some whooping as several of the guys high-fived or pounded on one another. There was a squeal; Angeal hoped it was one of the girls.

"We should rest tonight," Angeal argued. "We head out early tomorrow."

Genesis' face fell. "Ange...it's Rapt Ruin."

Angeal set his mouth into a firm line. They needed all the rest they could get for this next mission; even Rapt Ruin wasn't worth getting themselves killed over. But then Genesis fixed his mako-brighted eyes onto Angeal's and the two pairs, altered by the same, magical process of science, passed a symbiotic vibration between them. Angeal felt something move inside his chest, a lilting of his stomach. Genesis always had beautiful eyes, but the mako had made them almost unbearably, heart-breakingly, irresistibly so.

"Angeal," Genesis said gently, "We split up tomorrow. This may be the last night we ever see each other, the last night we'll be together."

At this all the internal framework holding Angeal Hewely's stoic resolve finally collapsed in a silent cascade. He shut his eyes and wrapped an arm around Genesis' neck and kissed the smooth temple.

"Don't talk like that," he said. "We'll make it through this, just like all the others. It's a good plan; you driving from north and me from the south. We'll meet each other in a few days, right in the middle of that fucking peninsula. You'll see; trust me."

Genesis shoved away a little and smiled at him, smiled with the trust he asked for. And hadn't this been the problem all along? Genesis wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. Although Genesis had turned sixteen five months before Angeal, he had waited for Angeal's sixteenth birthday to join up. He had followed Angeal, because Angeal in all his stubbornness would go nowhere else but the army, even though war was part of that. It had been an assumption for Angeal, as it had been for his father before him. Every generation has its war. It was a terrible thing, but coming from a long line of military men Angeal accepted that this horror would always repeat itself. But Genesis... there were a thousand things Genesis could have done, could have been. Not that Genesis was a poor Soldier, far from it. But he was also smooth enough for politics, the trade of his family. He was a poet and a talented musician, frustrated to be away from his guitar and constantly making instruments out of combs or blades of grass, singing softly to himself in their foxhole. Genesis needn't have ended up here, but Angeal had come and so here he was. And every day of it bruised that creative and sensitive spirit a little more. Angeal wondered how many times they could just keep turning bruised portions to the back, hiding them from view, before they ran out of shiny red apple.

"You're right," Angeal said. "We _so_ have to go."

Genesis jumped up on his friend again, in his exuberance sticking a sharp elbow into his jaw and landing on his foot as he came down. This time Angeal did not protest.

"Hey," he said, finally giving Genesis a gentle shove. "Did I tell you we're making Lieutenant?"

ccccccccccccccc

For the next six hours an air of festive holiday permeated the base. Voices rose to pitched excitement at the slightest provocation, people laughed and smiled, and even the most dedicated slacked at their duties and forgot the war for a little while. Bottles of warm beer moved surreptitiously in and out of duffels, flasks of Junon brandy were passed between young, eager lips. And the upper echelon officers pretended not to notice.

Angeal soaked up the welcome change in atmosphere that pervaded even as far as the infirmary. He and Genesis were still visiting their friends there, Genesis excitedly entertaining the men with wild stories of Ghost Vanir's excessive lifestyle, interspersed with pretty fair imitations of the man's stage antics. Angeal laughed as Genesis executed a full triple spin in the air, landing in a bow. The thing he found funny was that Genesis did this all on his own, just him and his mako enhanced self and gravity. Angeal was pretty sure Ghost Vanir used a wire.

"Hey, Lute," the owner of the bunk Angeal was seated on, Private Betcher, gave him a little kick with his one good leg. Actually his only leg, the one the shrapnel had for unknown reason spared. Angeal frowned at him, not for the kick but for the damn nickname, that common abbreviation of "lieutenant" that always sounded prissy to him. The whole ward had heard of their promotion before he and Genesis had arrived, as well the news of the show. News ran fast where gossip was the primary source of entertainment.

"What?" Angeal asked.

"Steal me a crutch tonight from somewhere, willya? I wanna go to the show."

Angeal frowned at Betcher, but in his mind was already working on where he could scrounge up a crutch. All of the men should be allowed to enjoy this, especially the injured, if they could manage it.

"I'll see what I can do," Angeal said, making the Private grin wildly. Betcher was a shiner, enough mako in his system to put a slight sheen on his eyes. He was healing fast, and Angeal wondered if an enhanced Soldier like this could re-grow a limb. There was so much they didn't know; Genesis and he were the first full fledged, mako stabilized test cases, and even living in these bodies they didn't know the half of what they could do.

"Hey," Genesis said, plopping down on Betcher's bunk and scooping up the lone foot there. He rubbed the base with vigorous strokes, causing Betcher to lay back and groan.

"Gaia, if only I had two feet to enjoy this. Shit, Rhapsodos, you're like a goddam geisha. Sir."

"Shutup," Genesis said, but continued to rub the foot. Angeal shook his head slowly in wonder, only Genesis could get away with behaving like this.

"I gotta go do something with my hair," Genesis announced. "Get it to stick up."

"It already sticks up," Angeal said.

"Does not, it sticks out. I want up."

"Why?"

"Because _Ghost_ always sticks his hair up. It's the spirit of the thing. We could do something with you," Genesis ran a couple of fingers through Angeal's heavy, dark locks."

"Stick to your own hair," Angeal said, pulling his head away from Genesis' wild styling ideas.

"Happily!" Genesis popped up, kissed Betcher on the side of the head, did the same to several of the other men, and trotted out the door. Angeal followed, excusing himself in a more subdued fashion. The men from many parts of the planet easily traded these rough kisses on the head, "Soldier kisses", but he hadn't been able to embrace the custom quite so freely due to his austere Banoran upbringing. Somehow being from Banora did not repress Genesis whatsoever.

Angeal used the next few hours to double check their gear for the following day, sneak several pairs of crutches from nurses who erroneously thought their charges should not be out and about, and bum a fifth of Junon brandy for his curved flask that fit snugly against his leg in a thigh pocket. He'd seen Genesis slip into their tent with a sandwich in one hand, his other holding up the front of his shirt, exposing his midriff and carrying small items in the hammock made by the fabric. Something dark was draped over one shoulder, a clean uniform maybe. But now he appeared to be missing dinner. Again. Angeal filled a tray for them both, and on his way out of the mess tent saw several large tubs filled with ice and bottles of beer. Cheap stuff from Rocket Town, but it was beer, cold beer no less. Angeal grabbed two of the ice-slickened, glass necks. The movement caught the eye of the attendant, who yelled before identifying him.

"ONE EACH!- Oh, sorry, lieutenant."

Angeal nodded, grinned back at the man, and with these new treasures returned again to his tent. He ducked his head to clear the flap that served as a door, and when he looked up inside he almost dropped the lot of it, food, tray, beer and all.

Genesis had on his head the most fantastical hairdo he'd ever seen. Except maybe on Ghost Vanir himself.

"How..." Angeal set the food down and twisted the caps off both beers. They weren't twist offs. "How did you get it to do that?

"Egg whites," Genesis said, accepting one of the beers from his stunned friend and taking a hefty swig. "Then I stood on my hands until it dried. Here, I still have the yolks." He picked up a plastic cup last used sometime yesterday, blew out the dust and the dried body of a dead bug, and carefully tipped one whole yolk from a small bowl into it. Then he poured some of Angeal's beer into the glass and handed it to him.

"I'm not drinking that," Angeal said flatly.

"Oh yes you are. It's good for you, more nutritious than that mess hall crap. And it's not like we're going to get fresh eggs anytime soon."

Angeal eyed the glass with disgust, then upended the thing and chugged it. It caused him to scrunch up his face, shake his head slightly, use up almost the entire rest of his beer as a chaser, but he managed to keep it down. He shoved the empty glass at Genesis, who mixed up an identical concoction for himself and swallowed it without hesitating.

"I think the beer makes it worse," Angeal griped.

"No way, beer makes everything better. "

Angeal was pretty sure that wasn't true and fished the flask from his pocket. Genesis' eyes flashed up when he caught the sweet smell of the brandy.

"Give," he demanded.

Angeal eyed his friend's carefully constructed coif and noticeably clean uniform, thinking how adverse Genesis would be to a tussle over the dirt packed floor right now. He held the open flask aloft and away, it's cloying, demanding smell swirling its way through their tent.

"Come and get it," Angeal said, a wicked glint in his eye.

cccccccccccccccc

It seemed most of the camp had turned out to see Rapt Ruin, but even so it couldn't have been more than a thousand people. A tiny crowd for a band of their caliber. It didn't matter where they stood around the platform that served as a stage, every spot was good. They could barely believe it; it was like having Rapt Ruin all to themselves rather then sharing them with sixty or eighty thousand.

The band had set up just outside of the base, in a field where long grasses were already trampled flat by the press of combat boots. An enormous semi-tractor trailer truck with the band's logo on the side served as the backdrop and sound reflector. Power generators flanked the stage, but Angeal supposed there wasn't enough juice for proper lighting, the cause of the show starting so early. He didn't mind; they were just an hour shy of sunset now so the band would play during the twilight hour, a good hour by any accounts.

"Look at that tower," Genesis said excitedly, pointing at what looked like a three story crane hanging over the stage. "I think it pivots, they'll be able to loft all kinds of things over the stage like that. And six Mach4D speakers? Damn! I can't believe they brought so much firepower to an outdoor show in the middle of nowhere."

"Some people are grateful for our work here," Angeal said.

"Not everybody. Not my old man."

Angeal reached up and gave Genesis a friendly squeeze on the back of his neck. Genesis' father, the mayor of Banora, could be a real prick and disapproved of his son's decision to join the army. They had picked up mail when they had arrived at base, for Angeal, precious, welcome letters from home, for Genesis, a mixed bag of well wishing friends and poison bile from his father.

"Hey, happy birthday," Genesis said, handing Angeal a small item that seemed to be wrapped in toilet paper. "Sorry about the wrapping, it's all I could find."

Angeal gaped at the small, white bundle. He had completely forgotten- his birthday was in a few days. They would be in the Mimian peninsula somewhere when he turned seventeen, getting their butts shot at. He unraveled the light gauzy paper until a small, heavy object fell into the palm of his hand. It was a ring maybe an inch and a half in diameter, but incomplete on one side where the material thinned to a point. The curved pieces, he realized, were honed into the shape of blades, and the green and clear swirls were clearly the same material as the exotic stones the men had been picking up all over Wutai.

"You made this?" Angeal asked.

"Yup. It's a double korambi, symbol of the Goddess. It will bring you luck."

Angeal examined the small object. The crossed hilts were carved with ornate markings, the curved blades delicately patterned.

"How did you do this?" Angeal asked.

"Polished it with a fire spell that I made into a point by focusing it with my fingertips. And some of my hair."

Angeal stared at the thing again, imagining Genesis sweating with concentration, a makeshift auburn "brush" between his fingertips. It must have taken weeks.

"_When_ did you do this?" Angeal asked, still amazed. They had been either in the heat of a fight or locked down in a foxhole together for almost a month. He never saw Genesis working on the thing.

"When you weren't looking. While you slept."

Angeal closed his fingers around the carved stone, wishing his uniform had a pocket close to his heart where he could put his gift. He had to settle on a pocket in his pants. "Thank-you."

An explosive sound burst over the audience, causing Angeal, Genesis, and every other man recently returned from Okudzu to flatten themselves to the ground. Less shell-shocked comrades made it only half way down before realizing what it was- the start of the show. The song was Bloodied for Love, a raucous, screaming guitar and bombastic drum intro followed by punishing vocals of pain, anger, and oddly enough, hope. Angeal and Genesis laughed a little, then laughed a little more as they stood and dusted themselves off. The spot Genesis had chosen for them was magic; not right in front but with better sound from the speakers and slightly raised to where their view was completely unobstructed. The crowd sang along, yelled at Ghost, and held hands aloft to him. The flamboyant frontman ran from one side of the stage to the other, hand out and rippling through their outstretched hands the way a child might trail his fingers in the water over the gunnel of a speeding boat.

"What is he wearing?!" Angeal shouted in his friend's ear when the volume dropped enough during a slower song to be heard.

"I think its choco leather!" Genesis shouted back "It's fabulous!"

Angeal nodded. The calf length, ornate red coat Ghost had on about matched the description he'd heard of choco leather. It draped almost like a heavy silk, but the sheen was all wrong for silk. Chocobo skin was supposed to be damn near indestructible, hard as hell to process and make into a garment. The thing probably cost a small fortune.

Genesis was mesmerized by the stage, by the figure in red in particular. He moved almost trancelike with Ghost's motions, and Angeal looked from the performer to his friend. Ghost was beautiful, fluid, graceful, and powerful looking all at the same time. But Angeal didn't think he came close to Genesis. Ghost's routine was an act. But Genesis didn't practice to look that way; he simply was all those things. Even before the mako enhancement he had been as lithe and strong as a panther. Angeal let himself watch, and appreciate, his friend. Normally he tried not to indulge in this... voyeurism too often, fearing the impact on his sanity.

The two of them had almost grown up together, and Angeal supposed that the "almost" part was the problem. That if they had made the entire journey in tandem he wouldn't have to suffer with these feelings. But they had been separated at what was probably the most critical time. When they were twelve, Genesis had left Banora for a private school. When he returned three years later he was changed, he had developed into an exotic, sensual young man, already experienced in the realm of sex. Underneath he was the same, his core immutable, and they had written each other so faithfully that their bond remained intact during this rise of puberty. But Angeal had been unprepared for the physical impact of his best friend returning home, maybe as much from changes in himself as his friend. He had suddenly desired Genesis in a way he had never before, in a way he hadn't desired anyone before.

But he didn't speak of these things, then or now. Genesis' choice in partners was clear. He liked fashionable, he liked flashy, he liked temporary. Everything on his terms, and when he tired of them quickly, as he always did, he wanted them gone completely from his life. Angeal told himself that Genesis needed him to be more than that, a friend of more constancy. That being a friend served Genesis far better than being a lover ever could. But somewhere in his heart he knew his reasons were more selfish than that. He feared rejection, probably immediately for not being Genesis' type, or worse, if accepted initially to only be rejected later. He might loose Genesis forever by walking through that fire. And what was he, without Genesis? He was aware of the common opinion that Genesis needed him, that Angeal provided the stability and common sense in their relationship. But Angeal knew the real truth. Without Genesis, Angeal's life lacked color, lacked imagination, lacked light. Genesis was light.

Genesis turned and smiled at him, flashing a row of perfectly white and rather vicious looking teeth. Angeal added "dangerous" to the list of Genesis' qualities, and found he liked that one too. There was nothing about Genesis that he didn't like; that he didn't want. And in a way, that sucked.

The pace of the music picked up again, and now the crowd was moving in a frenzy to match, coalescing into small, informal mosh pits throughout the audience. For a few songs a small pit formed right next to the two friends, and they, preferring to soak up the show instead of bashing around, simply dug the heels of their boots in and let the moshers ping off them like waves on a rocky shoreline. As long as nobody stuck them with anything pointy the moshers were barely more than a nuisance. A pair of female nurses and one young man, a clerk not a fighter, moved next to them on the lee side of the pressure of the moshers. The girls smiled at them; the clerk tried to pretend that it was just an accident that he was using them for shelter.

The music shifted again, to a soulful song with just Ghost and two acoustic guitars, a song that turned every heart towards the warmth of home and caused even the most hardened Soldier to admit the man had a compelling if not outright beautiful voice. Items started to pass between the audience- postcards from home, photos of beloved and lost comrades, attractive green and white stones picked up in the battlefield. Prized snacks pilfered from the mess were shared, as well as alcohol. Some Junon brandy was still left among the men and passed their way, as well as some home-made rotgut that Angeal almost spit out. Then Angeal noticed Genesis, in front of him now, taking a drag off a small, twisted, hand wrapped cigarette. Angeal smacked him on the back of the shoulder. Genesis passed the joint along on its journey and laid his head backwards until it rested on Angeal's shoulder.

"You are _such_ a prude. It's just grass."

"It's 'lusion weed for all you know."

Genesis nodded in concession. You couldn't tell plain maryjane from the harder, put-you-in-a-delusional-state-for-eight-hours illusion weed until it was too late. Although actually Angeal never wanted him to smoke anything. Not that he minded; smoke just wrecked his voice anyhow. He only ever did it when Angeal was watching. Genesis reached out and snagged a circulating bottle of Brian Walsher Whisky, the stuff they always called "brain washer", and managed four big swallows before Angeal lowered the bottle away from his lips. Another hand in the audience eagerly snapped up the bottle.

"Hey, slow down, OK?" Angeal put his arms around both of Genesis' so he couldn't latch on to any of the other goodies being passed around. It was like containing a two year old in a grocery store.

"Don't wanna slow down. Ever," Genesis said, letting his lips fall close and warm to Angeal's ear.

Angeal squeezed Genesis close to him, feeling the lovely nearness and heat of his torso, reminding himself that his own head was not entirely clear.

"How about we get you some water? Time for a walk anyway," Angeal said.

"Yes, walk would be good. Pissing would be good."

They threaded their way through the crowd, undulating in time with the mass motion, keeping with the flow so they wouldn't get stuck. This afforded them some different views of the stage. It was quite dark now, and it turned out the band did have some good stage lighting. This late in the show Ghost Vanir was looking pretty loose as well, and his stage antics were heating up as a result. He was currently swaggering across the stage with a small paddle in one hand. He kept flipping the paddle to expose one face then the other, the crowd giving both approving cheers and boos at both. There was a great deal of whistling. Angeal squinted at the prop. One side said "Uke" and the other said "Seme". He rolled his eyes and Genesis laughed as Ghost swatted one of his guitar players on the ass with the thing, the victim almost falling down in hysterical laughter. Ghost swapped spit with another band member, and they launched into another raucous song.

A visit to the porta-potty and the water tank, some more walking around, and Angeal was pleased to see Genesis sobering up some. The encore was lengthy, and the show finished off with what seemed to be the sole pyrotechnics charge they had brought along. Angeal and Genesis both shielded their eyes and ducked their heads, the sight and sound and smell close enough to materia artillery that for a moment their hearts raced and filled with uncontrolled dread.

"I could have done without that last display," Angeal admitted in the sudden silence that left them feeling like that had cotton in their ears. Cotton with a little piezoelectric squeal generator stuffed somewhere inside.

"Let's go meet them!" Genesis said.

Angeal stared at his friend. He would love to meet Rapt Ruin, get some autographs. But they were mega-stars, not the kind of people you just strolled up to meet.

"There's hardly anybody here, not compared to a normal show. C'mon, maybe we can meet them."

They pushed their way through the crowd, most of whom were walking back to camp, until they came to a thick knot of maybe 200 people, all with the same idea as Genesis. Ten MPs, huge men, all shiners, stood in a line behind a bright blue rope, blocking the tour bus which was parked at right angles to the semi-truck. A small, efficient looking civilian moved easily around behind them, occasionally selecting a crowd member that the MPs should let through. Angeal noticed with dismay that these were mostly girls.

"C'mon," Genesis said, grabbing Angeal's hand. "I'm gorgeous enough to get even your ugly mug in."

Angeal followed, remembering stories Genesis had told him of bars in Midgar. In Banora, if you wanted to go to a bar, you just went in and sat down. But apparently there were clubs in Midgar where people stood outside in line for hours and sometimes never got in. But the beautiful could always get in. With the right style and dress and attitude you could walk right in anywhere, the doormen just waved you in. And maybe your friends too, depending on your perceived quality. Genesis had used this method with success while visiting his cousin in Midgar, but Angeal supposed it would only work here if Rapt Ruin's tastes were as open as their stage persona pretended.

Angeal eyed the MPs, thinking of a backup method. Either he or Genesis alone could take all ten out, shiners or no. The faintness of the eye glimmer confirmed their mako levels were around 100. He and Genesis had levels over three hundred - unique in the entire planet. But starting a brawl here probably wouldn't help their cause.

The two elbowed their way to the front of the crowd, and Genesis rose up on his toes until he caught the attention of the little fancy man. Genesis' face opened up in a questioning expression, and Angeal's heart squeezed at how young he looked, his skin as smooth as fine porcelain, unlined as if he had no cares, as if he were not headed back to the front in less than twelve hours. Then the velvet rope was being opened and both of them, still linked hand in hand, were guided between the nose of the bus and the trailer of the truck.

They found themselves in a small courtyard formed by four vehicles. The band had in fact TWO large trucks, plus the bus, and the fourth side of the courtyard had been formed by an army vehicle. Small, festive lights were strung overhead and fancy drinks filled small tables. The band was signing away on various objects, and in some cases, body parts.

"What have we got for them to sign?" Genesis was digging frantically though his pockets, finding nothing suitable. Their clothes were no good, they were entirely black. They had drunk all the brandy before the show even started, so Angeal did not even have his flask with him. They considered and rejected their pocket knives, and there was no way Angeal was going to let even Ghost Vanir scribble on his birthday present. He dug into a pocket and pulled out the TP that had wrapped his gift. Genesis shrugged and they separated it into two pieces, folding and flattening until they each had something that might be written on. Luckily it was army TP, aka "rough and tough".

Genesis presented his square to Voss, one of the guitar players. The man looked at it with raised eyebrows.

"Toilet paper?" he asked, incredulity and a hint of a sneer in his voice. Genesis reddened slightly.

"It happens to be very sentimental toilet paper," Angeal said, placing himself so close to Genesis that their shoulders touched. He leaned over Voss slightly, his posture not entirely free of menace. "Sign carefully, please." Genesis beamed at Angeal, who gave him a little friendly bump with his shoulder.

"Okeedoke," Voss said, not wanting mess with a pair of guys who thought toilet paper was sentimental. Plus they were strange as hell; they looked like they had those black-light glowing rave contacts in. Except there were no black lights out here.

"Alright, toilet paper!" said a voice that caused both Soldiers to jerk their attention up. Ghost Vanir had come to lean over his guitarist, pen in hand, gently adding his signature to the precious asswipe. Ghost was bigger than Angeal expected. He always figured entertainers were, well, runty. But Ghost was tall, Genesis' height at least. He looked up and smiled at both Soldiers, then stopped, transfixed by Genesis.

"Why are your eyes like that?" Ghost asked.

"It's an experiment," Genesis said, his voice a little dreamy.

Ghost smiled again, clearly confused, then wandered away to do more signing.

"I'm such a dork," Genesis lamented the moment Ghost vanished.

"Yeah, but you're my kind of dork," Angeal wrapped an arm around him as they moved away to try a collect a signature from the drummer.

Genesis laughed, a wide mouthed, raucous, free sound that Angeal had been missing. For months, actually. Angeal smiled back at his friend, although he was troubled. If Ghost took a liking to Genesis, Genesis would want to spend some time with him tonight. From the corner of his eye, Angeal could see the door to the tour bus shut behind a couple who had just gone in. Merrik Zu, the bass player, and a pretty girl form supply. So much for getting that one's signature.

They mingled among the mix of fans, musicians, and roadies, sipping sweet but powerful concoctions from one of the small tables. Angeal thought they had probably had enough to drink tonight, especially Genesis, but it was too tempting not to accept drinks that were free, had better booze than they normally got, and were served in actual glass glasses. It had been months since they had seen such a thing, and it was wonderful to see Genesis with something more refined in his hand.

The night was still young and the crowd was lively, even the band didn't seem tired. But Angeal found the roadies the most interesting of the group. They were funny, unpretentious, and knew everything about how everything worked for the show. He talked to as many of them as he could and was quite enjoying himself until Nurse Linda decided to accost him over stealing crutches, telling him how one of the wounded who _should_ have been in bed had his materia seams ripped open from trying to mosh in one of the pits. Angeal was trying to ignore her, big tits and all. This was in no way his fault; he didn't tell any of the guys to mosh. He heard Genesis laugh, and just caught sight of the back of his wild bronze hair as he disappeared into the tour bus.

Angeal shut his eyes and sighed. It wasn't unexpected, but so far he hadn't seen anybody _exit_ that bus. There must be a hell of a party in there by now, and Angeal hoped Genesis wouldn't take any drugs at least. As for the other things he wished Gensis wouldn't do... Genesis was a big boy and Angeal resisted the temptation to crash the scene. He picked up another drink, found he had no taste for it, and set it on the empties table. He mingled awhile longer, and found he had no taste for that either. He wanted the hell out of there. He would come back in a bit and check on his friend, now that he saw how easy it was to get in and out of the makeshift courtyard.

Angeal walked over to the rear most truck trailer and with a fast and silent movement he dropped to the dirt, disappearing as soon as his black uniform hit the shadows. He log rolled under the trailer between the wheels and popped up on the other side. It was a little quieter now, and the air felt freer. He walked along the trailer, letting his fingers brush against the cold metal wall it formed. He put his other hand in his pocked and closed it around the double korambi symbol Genesis had made for him, a bit of good luck from the Goddess.

"Hey, leaving me already?"

Angeal turned at the sound of Genesis' voice, the quick step of boots running to catch up to him. He spoke before he got a good look at him. "Just going for a wa-."

Angeal's eyes rounded at the sight of his friend. He was now entirely drenched in something red, something that flowed and shone softly in the moonlight.

It was Ghost Vanir's choco leather coat.

"Where did you get that?" Angeal demanded, strange pangs pummeling his chest.

"I earned it," Genesis said, flippant and happily excited. "And I was worth it."

A blind rage engulfed Angeal with such suddenness he was ill prepared to handle it. Certainly not with the control he had come to be known for and certainly proud of. But like all things where pride was involved it did him an evil turn; his control had left him at the worst possible moment. He grabbed Genesis by both shoulders and slammed him hard into the side of the trailer. The metal wall crumpled and rent slightly at the force.

Genesis looked back at him, stunned, the hurt plain in his eyes.

"Ange," he finally said. "What gives? 'taint like I'm some fuckin' virgin."

"Yeah, well you aint ever been no fuckin' whore, neither." Angeal choked on the bitterness of his words. He hated when his speech dropped into that low, slangy stuff of his youth. Genesis could do it and still sound highbrow, somehow sophisticated, but Angeal knew he sounded like a common thug. A thug who was now mishandling his best friend. But still he couldn't make himself let go.

"I can't bear to see you trade yourself for some scrap of leather." Angeal felt tears, actual goddam tears come to his eyes. He blinked and forced them back.

Genesis' eyes narrowed at him and his teeth flashed in a snarl. "What do you care, anyway?"

And then he did it. Before he even knew what he was doing, Angeal did the thing he swore to himself he not do. He kissed his best friend. Not on the head or the cheek, not a 'Soldier Kiss', but full on the lips, forcing Genesis' head back into the cold metal behind them, forcing lips to open to his, tasting what he always knew would be as sweet as vanilla and berry jam.

It took him almost a full ten seconds to realize Genesis was kissing him back. He spent the next ten seconds just enjoying that. When they broke the kiss Angeal held their foreheads together, unable to look up into those bright, beautiful eyes.

"You are too fine, far too good, to give yourself up as some groupie. That's why I care." Angeal began to stroke Genesis' face, feeling the sharp ridge of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the curves that seemed so delicate but that he knew held surprising strength. Like choco leather. He felt Genesis hook both arms around his waist and pull until their thighs and hips and flat stomachs melted together.

"I didn't fuck him. Or do... anything." Genesis whispered, lips brushing Angeal's ear. "He just gave me the coat because I was there, because I asked if I could have it. Probably because he was done with it."

Angeal frowned, confused, but let one arm slide down Genesis' back to make sure their bodies would not separate. "Then why did you imply you had?"

Genesis smiled, the soft skin of his lips moving along where they touched the skin on Angeal's ear.

"I dunno." There was a small silence as Genesis took two deep breaths, feeling his torso move along Angeal's. "OK, yes I do. I said it just to get a reaction out of you. Any reaction, Gaia, I'd take anything. I love you, Ange. I love you so much, and I've needed this for so long."

Angeal pulled Genesis tighter, so tight he thought they might both break. His mind swam with a dozen ideas at once, but in the end it could only settle on one thing. Genesis needed this, needed him. He had been withholding perhaps the one thing Genesis needed the most. The thing they both needed. "I love you too, Gen. I always have."

At this Genesis pulled away just enough so that he might look at Angeal. Their bright mako eyes locked onto one another, both feeling the electric pull of the night.

"Promise?" Genesis pleaded quietly, childlike. "Promise you'll love me forever?"

"I promise," Angeal said, and as they kissed again he knew he meant it, whether he chose to or not, he would love Genesis forever.


End file.
